When Million Dollar Money Drop premiered in December, Noel TiVoed it on the grounds that Archer would like the money calculating aspect. What we couldn't have foreseen is that it's become a weekly staple for our family.
Even though the show partakes of many of the post-Who Wants To Be A Millionaire tropes that make almost every contemporary game show nigh-unwatchable -- a flashy Thunderdome set, overly talkative contestants, the apparent belief that waiting thirty seconds for the music to finish and a predetermined outcome to occur makes for compelling television -- it's got some surprising strong points that keep us coming back.
The premise is that the contestants (who compete in teams of two) start with a million dollars is $20,000 bundles. They must place those bundles on platforms corresponding to answers to a question. If they're not sure if the answer, they can hedge their bet by dividing the money among multiple platforms (with the caveat that they must keep one platform empty). Incorrect answers are trapdoors down which your money tumbles; the correct answer platform stays horizontal, and whatever money you've placed there is available to use in the next round. There are seven rounds. The early questions have four answer choices, reduced to three in middle rounds, and finally to an all-or-nothing two platforms for the final question. A clock counts down the time that contestants have to place their money; in an interesting twist, they get more time in later rounds. They can exercise a one-time "quick change" option in early rounds to give themselves additional time to move money.
The game puts a premium on trust, intuition, and relevant information. Typically the two contestants will end up throwing whatever they know about the answers at each other as they move money and the clock ticks down. Often what they say is completely unrelated to the choice in front of them, and if they have to spend too much energy determining that, there's less time available for being sure of their choice. Ideally at least one of the contestants will know or be able to figure out enough about the answer choices to make a decision -- then they have to convince their partner to trust them, even though the partner's instinct is usually to hedge the bet. The questions are usually of a continuum variety, where incorrect answers are hard to eliminate because they appear somewhere on the continuum. For example, one question asked the best-selling variety of Girl Scout cookies. Unless you happen to know that information, your task is going to be to make some sort of logical argument to eliminate the less plausible bestsellers and focus on the ones that make the most sense. But all the answers were Girl Scout cookies, so there was no way to use pure common knowledge to make a choice.
A fun little side game for the view is taking the answers (which are revealed first) and guessing the question; it's surprisingly easy, but that doesn't make it any less satisfying. And of course, as the contestants decide how much money to divide among various answers, the running commentary at our house is whether we would be confident enough in our methods of logical inference to go all-in on one answer, or whether we would try to stave off bankruptcy by leaving a couple of bundles on other answers. Having $100,000 or less, though, especially before the last couple of rounds, is hardly worth it; you can't break up $20,000 bundles so there's no way to make nuanced probability wagers.
And finally, there's the undeniable thrill of reminding yourself just how much money is going down those chutes when the contestants decide to hedge just a handful of bundles on a wrong answer. One bundle buys a basic car; two buys a nice car; three buys a boat. Five bundles is what we paid for our house.
Around our table half the fun comes from our children picking up on our preferred answer and making it their own. "It's Thin Mints!" they scream in frustration. "Put it all on Thin Mints!!"
Never thought I'd be watching another game show with dramatic lighting and a "never thought this would be my career path" host like Kevin Pollak. But here we are -- and I must say it's fun.
Showing posts with label game show. Show all posts
Showing posts with label game show. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Monday, September 21, 2009
Big fan
We've got a bunch of Jeopardy! episodes saved up on the TiVo, for viewing during dinnertime. The rapidly changing dollar totals in the contestants' podiums never fail to absorb Archer.
Lately -- at least lately in our DVR-delayed viewing -- the show's been celebrating its 30th anniversary by showing historic episode. And tonight was the first one we've seen featuring all-time champion (and Noel's secret best friend) Ken Jennings.
Archer knows about Jennings from his Guinness Book Of World Records, as well as from Noel telling him all about the millions of dollars he won and the length of his championship run. So when he spotted Ken Jennings in the contestant list, he was transfixed. A delighted smile crept across his face. Periodically he would update us on Jenning's score. Then, when his over two million dollar total winnings were announced at the time, Archer made sure we all knew the extent of the fortune: "His 75-day cash total is two million three hundred thiry-five thousand six hundred twenty!" (Or whatever it was. Archer's signature move is the rapid-fire recitation of specific numbers with a bunch of digits, and when he gets started, you can't interrupt him until he gets the whole number out.)
It's a trip to see him all starry-eyed at this giant of accumulating scores and setting records. I know that he has no greater ambition than to have a lot of money (because that's how you keep score in the game of life) and be a winner. If only there were some way to start feeding him trivia so that he could follow in Ken Jenning's path.
Lately -- at least lately in our DVR-delayed viewing -- the show's been celebrating its 30th anniversary by showing historic episode. And tonight was the first one we've seen featuring all-time champion (and Noel's secret best friend) Ken Jennings.
Archer knows about Jennings from his Guinness Book Of World Records, as well as from Noel telling him all about the millions of dollars he won and the length of his championship run. So when he spotted Ken Jennings in the contestant list, he was transfixed. A delighted smile crept across his face. Periodically he would update us on Jenning's score. Then, when his over two million dollar total winnings were announced at the time, Archer made sure we all knew the extent of the fortune: "His 75-day cash total is two million three hundred thiry-five thousand six hundred twenty!" (Or whatever it was. Archer's signature move is the rapid-fire recitation of specific numbers with a bunch of digits, and when he gets started, you can't interrupt him until he gets the whole number out.)
It's a trip to see him all starry-eyed at this giant of accumulating scores and setting records. I know that he has no greater ambition than to have a lot of money (because that's how you keep score in the game of life) and be a winner. If only there were some way to start feeding him trivia so that he could follow in Ken Jenning's path.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Open the case
We never watched Deal Or No Deal during its heyday as a staple of the new game shows that were saving networks, sussing it out (correctly) as a triumph of style (and endless delay) over substance. But Archer loves its monetary, banker, and case-number aspects, so we have ended up watching quite a bit of it with him.
And a more frustrating viewing experience I could not have imagined. First, let me give the show its propers: You really root for the contestant. Unfortunately, that's because their boneheadedness makes for such painful, inevitable failure, and their crumpled faces and crushed sp.
You see, the people in the studio -- I'm looking right at you, invariably-complicit family and friends -- are rooting for the contestant for the wrong reasons. What is the object of the game? To get the banker to give you a lot more money than your case is worth. What is not the object of the game? To "believe in yourself" and continue on to the bitter end under the delusion that your case holds the million dollars. Yet this is without exception what friends-and-family urge the contestant to do. They talk about all the hardship this person has suffered, and all the dedication it took to get there, as if the universe owes her. Instead of surveying the odds, they beg the contestant to will the jackpot into her case, Schroedinger-like.
If the game billed itself as being about shrewdness and probability, rather than about heartwarming stories of misplaced self-confidence, people would play differently. Instead, you see over and over again contestants once offered six figures -- six figures! -- reduced to accepting a hundred bucks at the end. And all because of some bizarre American conviction that game shows exist to balance the moral scales and reward damn-the-torpedoes heedlessness.
If that were the case, my friends, by now I'd have found some way to monetize all the hours I've spent yelling "TAKE THE DEAL!" at the television.
And a more frustrating viewing experience I could not have imagined. First, let me give the show its propers: You really root for the contestant. Unfortunately, that's because their boneheadedness makes for such painful, inevitable failure, and their crumpled faces and crushed sp.
You see, the people in the studio -- I'm looking right at you, invariably-complicit family and friends -- are rooting for the contestant for the wrong reasons. What is the object of the game? To get the banker to give you a lot more money than your case is worth. What is not the object of the game? To "believe in yourself" and continue on to the bitter end under the delusion that your case holds the million dollars. Yet this is without exception what friends-and-family urge the contestant to do. They talk about all the hardship this person has suffered, and all the dedication it took to get there, as if the universe owes her. Instead of surveying the odds, they beg the contestant to will the jackpot into her case, Schroedinger-like.
If the game billed itself as being about shrewdness and probability, rather than about heartwarming stories of misplaced self-confidence, people would play differently. Instead, you see over and over again contestants once offered six figures -- six figures! -- reduced to accepting a hundred bucks at the end. And all because of some bizarre American conviction that game shows exist to balance the moral scales and reward damn-the-torpedoes heedlessness.
If that were the case, my friends, by now I'd have found some way to monetize all the hours I've spent yelling "TAKE THE DEAL!" at the television.
Monday, May 19, 2008
It's a TV game show that takes place in my cab
I'm not a big Discovery Channel watcher ordinarily, so I'm late to the party on Cash Cab. We tuned in last week when our usual dinnertime game show, Merv Griffin's Crosswords, failed to record for some reason. But I was instantly delighted. I think it may be the best game show on television.
The premise is that there's a seemingly ordinary taxicab cruising around Manhattan picking up passengers. An unsuspecting fare gets in and tells the driver his destination. Then the inside of the cab lights up and the music plays, as the driver/host announces, "You're in the Cash Cab!" The passengers spend their trip answering general knowledge questions of increasing difficulty, amassing money as they go. An incorrect answer earns a strike, and three strikes means that the ride is over -- the contestants are dumped out on the side of the street immediately, whether they've reached their destination or not.
It's an exceedingly simple game, which is part of its charm. There are just a few wrinkles to add interest. Players get two "shout outs" they can use if they don't know the answer to a question -- they can call up someone on their cell phone, or they can pull over and ask someone passing on the street. If they hit a red light after winning a certain amount of cash, they get a special "red light challenge" question: 30 seconds to name four answers that fit a certain category, like the five top-selling sedans in the U.S. And at the end of their ride, they can either take the money they've won and leave, or they can go double-or-nothing on a video bonus, a short multimedia question.
Here's what I love about Cash Cab:
The premise is that there's a seemingly ordinary taxicab cruising around Manhattan picking up passengers. An unsuspecting fare gets in and tells the driver his destination. Then the inside of the cab lights up and the music plays, as the driver/host announces, "You're in the Cash Cab!" The passengers spend their trip answering general knowledge questions of increasing difficulty, amassing money as they go. An incorrect answer earns a strike, and three strikes means that the ride is over -- the contestants are dumped out on the side of the street immediately, whether they've reached their destination or not.
It's an exceedingly simple game, which is part of its charm. There are just a few wrinkles to add interest. Players get two "shout outs" they can use if they don't know the answer to a question -- they can call up someone on their cell phone, or they can pull over and ask someone passing on the street. If they hit a red light after winning a certain amount of cash, they get a special "red light challenge" question: 30 seconds to name four answers that fit a certain category, like the five top-selling sedans in the U.S. And at the end of their ride, they can either take the money they've won and leave, or they can go double-or-nothing on a video bonus, a short multimedia question.
Here's what I love about Cash Cab:
- Unprepared contestants. When the lights and music go off, passengers either start violently, eye the roof suspiciously, or realize happily that they're on that cab game show. Either way, they aren't selected, focus-grouped, groomed, and tested -- they're random schmoes totally winging it. That makes their triumphs more satisfying and their failures more distressing.
- Quick gameplay. We all know that the bane of the post-Millionaire game show is the glacial pacing. Very little happens, and the show wrings every last drop of drama out of each overanticipated moment. By contrast, you get three cab rides in every Cash Cab episode (they can't be more than 20 minutes long -- lots of commercials, making it perfect for TiVo). And since there's a deadline (reaching the destination, always given before the passengers are let in on the game show element), the questions come thick and fast to allow for maximum earnings.
- New York scenery. As the ride progresses, cameras mounted on the cab and in the trailing production car capture views of the Manhattan streetscape, other cars, passersby, rollerbladers weaving in and out of traffic, etc. It's like a little Travel Channel documentary, without informative narration but with questions about the U.N.!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Where do we go from here now that all of the children are growing up?
Ever since Noel received (and reviewed) a DVD collection of classic episodes of The Price Is Right, Archer has added the show to the regular rotation of game shows that he "hosts" for us. It's quickly become his favorite, because it is more number-focused than either Merv Griffin's Crosswords or Wheel Of Fortune, while having the advantage of also featuring a big wheel to spin in the Showcase Showdown. (So enamored is Archer of the big wheel concept that he tends to add spinning numerical wheels even to games that don't have them, leading to us having to spin imaginary wheels to find out what our Merv Griffin's Crosswords clue will be worth.) We've added the Million Dollar Spectacular to our TiVo list so Archer can have a taste of prime-time Price Is Right on a weekly basis.
I used to watch quite a bit of Price Is Right in the summer, or whenever I was home sick. The bright seventies decor and populuxe prizes fit my emerging middle-class aesthetic perfectly.
And then there was always the possibility of seeing this:
It's a game carpet! From Jorges, maker of fine floor coverings, comes the Games People Play carpet, complete with game pieces for checkers, chess, parcheesi, hopscotch, and dozens of other games. Hours of gameroom fun for the entire family. "It's Perfectly Jorges!"
Jorges is my mother's maiden name, and Jorges Carpets was the company founded by my Uncle Eddie, her older brother, just down the road from us in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. He named a line of carpets after his oldest daughter, my cousin Joy, too. We had "Games People Play" carpet in our basement, and while I don't remember the box with the pieces so much (I wish I did -- those graphics are stellar), I'll never forget the hundreds of days we whiled away building Hot Wheels tracks and playing Kerplunk on that carpet.
I worked one summer while home from college at the Jorges Carpet plant, long after its heyday on nationally-televised gameshows, cutting and trimming carpet samples and pasting them in sample books. I really loved the job, actually, the only manual labor job I've ever had. Most of the samples were standard carpet types -- industrial and residential -- not novelty designs like the game carpet. But I did get to paste that one in a book occasionally, and I can still see a portion of an ornate "4" in the square that I held up to the rotating trimmer to bevel the edges to a beautiful smoothness before applying the hot glue and centering it carefully on the page.
I used to watch quite a bit of Price Is Right in the summer, or whenever I was home sick. The bright seventies decor and populuxe prizes fit my emerging middle-class aesthetic perfectly.
And then there was always the possibility of seeing this:
It's a game carpet! From Jorges, maker of fine floor coverings, comes the Games People Play carpet, complete with game pieces for checkers, chess, parcheesi, hopscotch, and dozens of other games. Hours of gameroom fun for the entire family. "It's Perfectly Jorges!"
Jorges is my mother's maiden name, and Jorges Carpets was the company founded by my Uncle Eddie, her older brother, just down the road from us in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. He named a line of carpets after his oldest daughter, my cousin Joy, too. We had "Games People Play" carpet in our basement, and while I don't remember the box with the pieces so much (I wish I did -- those graphics are stellar), I'll never forget the hundreds of days we whiled away building Hot Wheels tracks and playing Kerplunk on that carpet.
I worked one summer while home from college at the Jorges Carpet plant, long after its heyday on nationally-televised gameshows, cutting and trimming carpet samples and pasting them in sample books. I really loved the job, actually, the only manual labor job I've ever had. Most of the samples were standard carpet types -- industrial and residential -- not novelty designs like the game carpet. But I did get to paste that one in a book occasionally, and I can still see a portion of an ornate "4" in the square that I held up to the rotating trimmer to bevel the edges to a beautiful smoothness before applying the hot glue and centering it carefully on the page.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Dead sock walking
Today's post, about my imminent demise (cause of death: handknit sock), is over at Toxophily.
ObArcherAnecdote: On Mother's Day, Archer paused in his usual abstracted galloping around the house to embrace my leg briefly. "Like Mom," he said haltingly, "I just love you ... because you almost won one million dollars on The Price Is Right."
ObArcherAnecdote: On Mother's Day, Archer paused in his usual abstracted galloping around the house to embrace my leg briefly. "Like Mom," he said haltingly, "I just love you ... because you almost won one million dollars on The Price Is Right."
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Come on down!
Noel has a new review of a The Price Is Right DVD set on the A.V. Club site today. That game show has become Archer's current obsession, and nearly every spare moment turns into a pricing game (with him as the host, and his ever-present Magnadoodle as the various electronic signs, gameboards, and price tags.
This afternoon Cady Gray wanted to play bedtime with me. It's one of her favorite games: she gets pillow, blanket, and stuffed animals from her bed and curls up on the floor, announcing, "When you say wake up, I'll wake up." That is far too tempting to a parent looking for a few moments of peace, as you can imagine.
She said that when we got up, we could go to the fair, referring to a lullaby on one of her CDs which promises fairgoing to a sleepy child. So when it was time to "get up," we went to the "fair" (front room) to ride the "rides" (couch pillows). Archer, playing ticketseller (Cady Gray bought 1495 tickets) and ride operator, announced that we would have to guess the price of the merry-go-round before we could board. As Cady Gray and I made our wild guesses, Archer held up his Magnadoodle with a big boxed "CF" on it, in the manner of the Showcase Showdown podium label.
"What's the CF stand for?" I asked.
Without missing a beat, still holding the Magnadoodle up to request my bid, Archer quickly explained, "County Fair."
This afternoon Cady Gray wanted to play bedtime with me. It's one of her favorite games: she gets pillow, blanket, and stuffed animals from her bed and curls up on the floor, announcing, "When you say wake up, I'll wake up." That is far too tempting to a parent looking for a few moments of peace, as you can imagine.
She said that when we got up, we could go to the fair, referring to a lullaby on one of her CDs which promises fairgoing to a sleepy child. So when it was time to "get up," we went to the "fair" (front room) to ride the "rides" (couch pillows). Archer, playing ticketseller (Cady Gray bought 1495 tickets) and ride operator, announced that we would have to guess the price of the merry-go-round before we could board. As Cady Gray and I made our wild guesses, Archer held up his Magnadoodle with a big boxed "CF" on it, in the manner of the Showcase Showdown podium label.
"What's the CF stand for?" I asked.
Without missing a beat, still holding the Magnadoodle up to request my bid, Archer quickly explained, "County Fair."
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Four letters: Online diary
Sometimes I think childhood is just an accumulation of obsessions. Archer's latest is Merv Griffin's Crosswords, a new game show in a sort of combined Lingo/Scrabble mode. Contestants are given a crossword element with one or no letters filled in, and a clue. They have to provide and spell the word. (Our online acquaintance Tom the Dog got to be a contestant, and writes about it here.)
On our walk tonight, Archer took along his magnadoodle so he could play puzzlemaster for us. He drew the blocks for the number of letters and kept the score in the corner. What amused us were the clues he provided. Here are a few:
8 letters, "Birth for kids" (birthday)
3 letters, "Tall boy" (man)
4 letters, "long street" (road)
3 letters, "Seven plus" (age, referring to the recommended ages on games and toys)
I like watching his mind work as he tries to assemble crossword-style clues for whatever word he's thought up. He also made the "doot-DOOO!" ascending notes of triumph when we got it right, and the "doot-dooooooo" descending notes of failure when we got it wrong. And naturally, he told us how much the questions were worth ($100, $200, etc.) and kept a running total. Just like on TV, we lost the amount when we missed a question. At one point on the walk Noel was up above $1000, but we ended back below $500. We did, however, win the Crosswords Getaway, and we're going to Jamaica!
On our walk tonight, Archer took along his magnadoodle so he could play puzzlemaster for us. He drew the blocks for the number of letters and kept the score in the corner. What amused us were the clues he provided. Here are a few:
8 letters, "Birth for kids" (birthday)
3 letters, "Tall boy" (man)
4 letters, "long street" (road)
3 letters, "Seven plus" (age, referring to the recommended ages on games and toys)
I like watching his mind work as he tries to assemble crossword-style clues for whatever word he's thought up. He also made the "doot-DOOO!" ascending notes of triumph when we got it right, and the "doot-dooooooo" descending notes of failure when we got it wrong. And naturally, he told us how much the questions were worth ($100, $200, etc.) and kept a running total. Just like on TV, we lost the amount when we missed a question. At one point on the walk Noel was up above $1000, but we ended back below $500. We did, however, win the Crosswords Getaway, and we're going to Jamaica!
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